Who needs a yacht?

Morgan Llywelyn is an author with whom I have never been disappointed. Her weaving of fact and fiction is so well done and intriguing that for the last twenty years I always anticipate her upcoming releases. When I discovered she was writing about St. Brendan the Navigator, I was doubly excited, as it is a story which has always fascinated me. Brendan was the 6th century Irish monk who, rather than choose serene and isolated contemplation like most of his colleagues, traveled to the ends of the earth. Using the ninth century document Voyage of St Brendan the Navigator, Llywelyn retells the story of the monk who, in his quest to find the The Islands of the Blessed, the eternal paradise, ends up crossing the Atlantic Ocean.

Brendan tells the story of the monk from his early days, living in a quiet community, learning under the instruction of Ita, a gentle, patient nun. As his body and wisdom mature, he comes under the tutelage of Erc, a powerful Bishop and former Druid. In Brendan, Erc sees someone with great potential and leadership qualities, but is often frustrated by the younger man's questioning mind and adventurous spirit.

The novel shifts between time periods, a device which adds a dreamy quality to the novel. We read of Brendan's childhood, youth, adulthood (where he accomplished most of his adventures), through to his old age, where he records his memories in his journal. It is in the writing of the journal that Brendan recalls his greatest adventure of traveling with several other monks in a small boat called a curragh, where they see living islands, volcanoes, icebergs, all sorts of unusual people, as well as tragedy. It is speculated that Brendan was the first European to reach the shores of North America, a scene Llywelen describes beautifully in the final scenes.

Although Brendan is written about a Christian saint, it is not an overtly religious book. Brendan lived at a time when the Celtic church varied greatly from its Roman counterparts. Christianity was interwoven with pagan beliefs, marriages between church leaders was normal and encouraged, and even Brendan feels romantic love. It is more a story of a restless spirit, who happens to be a monk, the daring escapades he faced, and his relationship with his god which can only grow given the wondrous things he sees and experiences.

Worth the wait?

I remember several incidents when a new title in Stephen King's Dark Tower series would be released where library patrons would amiable complain that King needed to write the next book faster, as they were impatiently waiting for more! I would question them on whether they thought it would be worth it; perhaps the books were so compelling and left you wanting more because the author took his time writing them. If they were whipped off quicker, would it be as satisfactory?

Several times I've found myself in the same position with my favourite authors, thinking 'come on already, it's been two years! You must have SOMETHING to release!!!' With mystery author Erin Hart, I've been biding my patience for six, yes six, years for her next entry in the Cormac Maguire/Nora Gavin series. The first two titles, Haunted Ground and Lake of Sorrows, focused on Nora's fleeing to Ireland after her sister Triona's murder, seemingly committed by Triona's husband Peter. There, Nora stumbles upon two local mysteries, which she and Cormac help to solve. Hart's new release, False Mermaid finds Nora returning to the U.S. to finally confront her demons, namely, Peter.

The plot focuses on Nora's investigation in the States, where she discovers Peter is engaged to the younger sister of Nora's ex-fiance. She fears that Peter will do to Miranda what he did to Triona: slip her drugs which make her black out, make her suspicious of her own family, manipulate her into otherwise uncharacteristic actions. Nora also worries on how to approach her young niece, Elizabeth, who is unaware of the details of her mother's death,and must adjust to her new step-mother.

The storyline shifts to Co. Donegal, Ireland, where Cormac is trying to bond with his ailing father. There he finds one of his colleagues, a folklorist interested in the history of a missing local woman from the 19th century believed to be a selkie, living with Joseph Maguire in his isolated homestead. The story of the selkie plays a pivotal role in False Mermaid, as Elizabeth, like her mother in her youth, is also intrigued in this 'fairy tale.' So, like Hart's first two mysteries, False Mermaid ties in a current crime investigation with an older one, while examining rituals, traditions, and superstitions of a past people.

So, is False Mermaid worth a six year wait? Uhm, somewhat yes, somewhat no. It's a great book, and very gripping. The tiny details, the intriguing primary and secondary characters, the family relationships, the myth of the selkie tying in with the role of the modern day woman and her freedom and identity, the fast paced storyline, are all fascinating. As a stand alone book, it's excellent; but as part of a series I really enjoy combined with a six year wait, it's a bit of a disappointment. I think this largely stems from the fact that I prefer the Irish setting of the first two books, and the prehistoric subplot, albeit I enjoyed the selkie storyline most in this book. Perhaps if the book had been released in a more timely manner, or Erin Hart was a new author to me and I read the three books in quick succession, then my anticipation would not have reached the almost unbearable stage, and my expectations may have been better satisfied.

That said, however, nothing could have prepared me for the somewhat, I felt, rushed ending, which truly had me scratching my head in confusion regarding certain elements, but also leaving me feeling dread at its sense of finality! I want more! And hopefully before 2016!

A swift, fulfilling read

Being a teenager is a potentially trying time for almost anyone. For Shell Talent, the focus of Siobhan Dowd's A Swift, Pure Cry, it's even more difficult, given she is still mourning the loss of her vivacious, beautiful mother a year earlier. Her father is caught in a deep depression, volunteering to raise money for the church, while drinking away a portion of it, and it's left to Shell to help raise her two younger siblings. Add to that that it is 1984 in an Ireland still under the strong hold of the Catholic Church and its strict rules.

Shell has a small circle of 'friends' to help her through things: Bridie is her best friend and schoolmate, until the charismatic Declan destroys their relationship; when he departs for New York, Father Rose, a young curate at Shell's local church, becomes her closest friend. But rumours are being spread about Shell's relationship with Father Rose, and when people of the village notice, despite Shell's best efforts to camouflage it, her pregnancy, suspicion grows.

While A Swift, Pure Cry is aimed at a young adult audience, which may account for the melodramatic plot twist at the end of the book, the characters are real and well-rounded. Shell is a quiet, well-behaved young woman who manages to stay strong and true to herself despite the tragic circumstances of her life. She sacrifices her youth largely for that of her brother and sister, thrust into the role of mother well before facing the truth that she will become an actual one soon. She is loyal to Bridie, who turns her back on Shell seemingly due to jealousy, to Declan's memory, despite his leaving her in a difficult position, and to her father, who, in effect, has destroyed his family's life with his inability to deal with being a widower. She bravely faces the town gossip regarding her and Father Rose and their friendship, and also a circumstance which leads to the plot twist in the latter part of the book which truly adds upheaval to her life.

Sadly, Siobhan Dowd's personal story adds a greater sense of tragedy to the story. The author died of breast cancer in 2007, when her career as a young adult author was blossoming. It makes reading her existing writings more poignant for what the reading audience has lost.

Just who are the animals here?

For years, I'd been hearing from people how excellent the novel Water for Elephants by Sarah Gruen is. And, for years, the idea of reading the book totally put me off. Why? Because the setting of the book is one I personally abhor: a travelling circus. However, I had no real choice in the matter when one of the members of our library book club chose it for our selection for March. And I loved it.

The book is from the point of view of Jacob Jankowski, now in a nursing home, looking back seventy years to the Great Depression, when he was a budding veterinarian. On the verge of taking his final exams and graduating, Jacob's parents are killed in an automobile accident. He discovers that his father, also a veterinarian, would rather treat another person's ill animals and be paid in beans and corn than let the animal suffer. Thus Jacob, an only child, is left alone, homeless and destitute, and, while dazed and stupefied as a result of recent events, runs off and hops aboard a passing train.

There, he meets and becomes part of a dysfunctional 'family' of circus folk. The definition of family in this context is that of loyalty, among some, but also jealousy, favouritism, and hatred. Uncle Al, the owner, and August, the animal trainer, are two incredibly repulsive, abusive, and opportunistic men. Neither people and animals are immune from their anger and manipulations, including Marlena, August's wife, and Rosie, the elephant which Uncle Al acquires at the expense of his workers, both of whom are subject to August's outbursts of violence, then treated like queens when they 'behave.' The prologue of the book hints at August's fate, and I found myself compelled to get read quickly so I could have the satisfaction of the culmination of the scene.

And when I got there, it was even better than I had originally anticipated!

A promising first novel

In 1920s New Orleans, Raziela Nolan is young, rich, beautiful, and vivacious, as well as independant, educated, and prone to slipping pamphlets on birth control in books at the public library. She is torn between accepting an engagement to her boyfriend Andrew or starting her education to become a doctor, until fate denies her a decision when she slips and hits her head at Andrew's pool and drowns. Thus starts her journey into the afterlife, making friends with others who are as yet unwilling or unable to pass into 'heaven,' in Ronlyn Domingue's The Mercy of Thin Air.

Eighty years later, Amy and Scott buy Andrew's old bookcase (which he had given to the son of Emmaline, his parents' former maid) at an estate sale. Razi's attachment to the bookcase causes her to follow the young married couple; she discovers that Amy is granddaughter to the recently deceased Sunny, who was the younger sister of Twolly, Razi's best friend in life. After her grandmother's death, Amy is distraught with her Grandpa Fin for destroying Sunny's photos and many sentimental belongings, and then who dies before she can forgive him. This act of destruction causes Amy to gather and compile to disc the family's remaining family photos, with the help of Great Aunt Twolly, now in her eighties, but at the expense of her relationship with Scott. As Razi continues to shadow Amy, while reminiscing about her own life, she observes parallels in Amy and Scott's lives to hers and Andrew's.

In some ways, The Mercy of Thin Air resembles Alice Sebold's The Lovely Bones. Both are first person narratives of the deceased character, both young women denied a long life, both full of regret for what is lost. The book also serves as a lesson to live life to the fullest, as Nel, one of Razi's friends in the afterlife, states after 'teaching' himself the cello in his spirit form: "that's what I wanted... I did the wrong thing... what I thought I should do, not what I wanted. And I can't take it back," a statement which causes Razi to look back to her own decision regarding her life with Andrew. The two titles also touch on how the living mourn the dead differently, and how some people cope and some cannot. And on how love continues, despite the pain. As Emmaline sagely notes, "that's how you know you love someone with all your heart, when the world get (sic) so cold without them."

May we all learn these lessons ourselves.

Keyes' Brightest?

Marian Keyes has been one of my favorite authors since one of her early books, Last Chance Saloon, caught my attention over a decade ago. Its plot consists of Tara, Fintan and Katherine, friends since the days of "legwarmers, pink stretch jeans and Duran Duran." Sure, it, like most of Keyes' novels, had it's serious moments, like dead-end relationships, broken hearts, characters' negative self esteem in regards to their bodies, drug addiction, and later on physical abuse, and tragic death, but it also had lots of laugh out loud funny scenes, witty and a bit over the top, that tended to overshadow the 'tragedy' of everyday life.

In her latest release, The Brightest Star in the Sky, Keyes' introduces an unseen, unnamed, 'magical' character who is able to infiltrate the daily lives of the numerous residents of 66 Star Street, Dublin, a la her fellow Irish author, Cecelia Ahern. Almost a dozen main characters and even more secondary ones flit through the narrative. My personal favorite, although I am reluctant to admit it, is the tiny but tough (okay, bitchy) Lydia, who mysteriously moves from a comfortable flat with her best friend into a cramped apartment with two Polish male students who cringe in fear from her. There is also Katie, a 40 year old 'babysitter' to artistes, who is on the rebound from her workaholic boyfriend Conall with the young and sexy Fionn; Matt and Maeve, a young couple whose early married life was horrifically marred seemingly beyond repair, and Jemima, Fionn's foster mother, a holder of great wisdom surrounded by despair and confusion, round out the residents.

While I did enjoy The Brightest Star in the Sky, and how the characters' lives would intertwine, I did however find that there was a bit too much going on, a few too many characters, to have this book replace Keyes' others as my favorites. And the magical element didn't quite do it for me. Now, to qualify my statement, I'm not saying this is a bad book: Keyes' style has grown to be more than light-hearted 'chick-lit,' her characters more developed, her situations less wacky. It is, in my opinion a good book, but lacks the levity of her previous writings. If you are considering embarking on a relationship with Keyes, I strongly recommend her earlier titles if you're looking for laughs, then grow with her into her later fiction.

Knowledge is but a clicker box away

Ah, winter. Darkness, warm clothes and cuddly blanket, hot chocolate. All things that make me feel cozy, and physically lazy (especially after a few hours of cross country skiing or walks in the snow). Ironically, it is the time I feel most intellectually stimulated, and I seek out non-fiction as much as 'deep' fiction.

However, when life deems that reading time is allotted but in small chunks, non-fiction, full of dates, facts and figures, is not the optimum choice. What's a reader to do?

Turn on the TV!

I don't do it often, but now and then I rise early in the morning, taking my cuddly paraphernalia in the basement where my TV is, and indulge in some great documentaries. I just finished discs 1-4 of the BBC's The Private Life of a Masterpiece. They contain thirteen 'biographies' of some of history's most celebrated works of art. Starting with magnificent La Primavera by Sandro Botticelli, the series examines works from Italian Renaissance, Dutch and Spanish Baroque, and early Romanticism, a classic Japanese print, and ending with the birth of modern art.

Despite having studied art history pretty much all my adult life, I have yet to see most of these works, so it adds some dimension to seeing the works' settings, rather than just the image head on. There is a greater impact seeing Leonardo's Last Supper as it is meant to be, as part of a monastery's refectory, and imagine the impact of sitting and dining under this powerful painting! Also, some of the musings from the interviewees makes me stop and realise "hey, I never thought about it that way." My particular favorite episodes thus far are Edvard Munch's The Scream and James McNeill Whistler's Arrangement in Grey and Black No.1 - Portrait of the Artist's Mother, oddly enough, since I've never been much of a modernist. Perhaps now I'm ready to learn about that which used to turn me off.

Ah, the power of television.